


Messes and Confessions

by AnOddSock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse (Supernatural), Angel Wings, Angst, Arguments, Drug Use, Drunkenness, Endverse!Cas, Endverse!Dean - Freeform, Evil Dean Winchester, Hallucinations, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt No Comfort, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Manhandling, Mean Dean Winchester, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Relationship(s), Power Imbalance, Powerlessness, Self-Sacrificing Castiel (Supernatural), Self-Sacrificing thoughts, Self-Worth Issues, Selfish Dean Winchester, Victim Blaming, broken relationship, wing whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25181815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnOddSock/pseuds/AnOddSock
Summary: Cas has always been happy to bleed for the Winchesters, giving all he has to give. This night though, Dean decided to just take what he needed. Cas always suspected he came last in the food chain, he just didn't think it would hurt him this much when Dean stopped trying to pretend otherwise.For the prompt: Cas is forced to show his wings during a rape
Relationships: Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 21
Kudos: 91
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	Messes and Confessions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dragonwithatale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonwithatale/gifts).



> Endverse seemed like the perfect setting for this, that version of Dean was harsh and assholey, so I extrapolated that he would also do this, if given enough incentive... ;)
> 
> This was written on a fairly tight timeline, but even so, I think it turned out okay.

Cas was asleep when Dean arrived in his cabin. Asleep and lost in dreams; he did that, now that he was running on fumes and barely an angel at all. The door opening woke him, and he groggily fought for proper consciousness as he heard Dean stumble, curse, giggle and then grope towards the bed.

“Dean?”

“Yeah baby. S’me.”

Dean appeared as a dark form, trying to climb onto the bed and kick off his shoes all at once. Cas smelled the whisky-sour breath, heard the slurred words, felt Dean’s fumbling movements and sighed. “You’re drunk.”

“Damn right, best way to be.”

Dean’s weight settled fully on top of Cas’ feet and he groaned and yanked the covers free. He punched the pillow and turned on the lamp, squinting under the bright assault on his sleepy eyes. The corners of the room blurred and glowed, soft fuzzy shadows that the light didn’t reach. Cas had no idea if it was the drugs he’d taken or just the sleep clouding his vision.

“At… two thirty in the morning, being _asleep_ is the best way to be.”

“Can’t. Got things to do.”

Cas huffed and tried to lay back down, only to have Dean clamber on top of him, jerky hands reaching for his face. Dean’s beer bottle thumped him on the chest and then the forehead.

“Ow! Watch it.”

“I’ll kiss it better, see.” Dean leaned over and planted a sloppy wet kiss on his cheek, and then nuzzled into his neck. “God, I have missed this.”

“You can’t miss me when I’m right here, that isn’t logical.” Cas looked around his sparse cabin, they lived on top of each other as it was, this one space was supposed to be his refuge when the door was closed.

“You weren’t with me, you were sleepin’. I was awake all alone.”

Cas sighed, Dean never minded being apart when he was angry, and he was angry a lot of the time, with Cas most of all. He only got like this when he got overwhelmed and looked for old comforts, or when he thought he was about to enter a losing battle. Still, Cas yearned to reassure him, if for no other reason than so he could go back to sleep. “You’ll be pleased to know I’m not going anywhere.”

“Neither am I apparently, damn world won’t let me have peace. You an’ me, forever. Stuck together until the end of fucking time. Or the end of the apocalypse, whichever comes first.”

“We’ll find a way, we always find a way.”

Dean rolled his eyes and slumped on top of Cas, laying his head on Cas’ chest.

“Without Sammy, what’s even the point? No point hoping without that dumbass. You know that, right?” Dean’s words were soft but his tone harsh and something in Cas curled up inside himself.

There was blame there, always, when it came to Sam. Dean heaped it on the angels; his anger and rage and despair for the unfairness that colored his whole life—and rightfully so. That Cas was an angel too just meant there was a heavenly outlet for all that pent up suffering within Dean’s reach.

“Sam made his choice. If I could help you fix it I would.” _If I could fix us, I would,_ he thought, but didn’t say. They were mostly beyond the point of being open and truthful with each other.

Dean looked up, lifted his hand to trace the lines of Cas’ jaw, looking tenderly at him.

Cas was filled with a sense of unease, suddenly. Dean was morose often enough but there was something else there too. He got in these moods sometimes where he would want to touch and be close, usually after too much to drink. Cas used to let him, they used to lose themselves in each other to numb the pain of living. But they hadn’t done that in a long time.

“Why are you here Dean?”

“Told ya, want to be close. The romantics would say I held a torch for you, but I’ve never been much for romance. With you though… we always were good together right?”

Cas wasn’t sure that was true but he didn’t have time to ponder it. Dean dropped his half-full beer bottle and it spilled across Cas’s naked torso and the bed. He swore, swooping to pick it up and move it aside. Dean straddled him as he tried to mop up the spilled beer with the sheets and he was pinned under Dean’s weight. Dean who caught his hands and kissed the back of his knuckles. 

“What are you trying to say to me, at this ridiculous hour, while you’re drunk? Whatever it is, I feel you’ll regret it in the morning. I’m regretting it right now.” He yanked his hand free and thumped the beer bottle onto the upturned crate that served as a bedside table and turned back to glare at his friend.

His _friend,_ who he loved, dearly, but who seemed to want more than he currently had to give.

“Can’t regret how I feel Cas. Won’t. Too much of my life I’ve… I've held back and repressed and now—now I just can’t anymore. Kinda freeing, y’know?”

“You’re being obtuse on purpose.”

“M’not! I’m tryna tell you, shit I know I’m bad but jus’ wait. Look.” Dean pulled back, dipped his head to make sure Cas was looking him in the eye. “You and me, we’re stuck with each other. But I need… more, now. Need you, like I never have before. Always _wanted_ , but I can ignore wants, can’t ignore needs. I _need_ you _._ ”

“You have me.”

Cas wasn’t sure he was correct, but mostly didn’t want to _believe_ where Dean was headed. His head pounded in a way that told him the sleep he’d had wasn’t enough, his body ached, and he felt weak. Weak with resolve, and weak physically too.

He tried to shove Dean off but Dean only held on harder, his grip clasped tightly around Cas’ wrists, tighter than Cas seemed able to grapple back.

“‘M gonna show you how much you mean to me. Just let me, okay? Just, just let me.”

Dean kissed him, and Cas did let him. 

It was messy; as skilled as Dean was the drinking made him too rough and too intense. Cas kissed back because he knew how to do this. The end of the world had taught him many things and one of them was how to give in to the whims of his body, and the whims of others, too. He did it now, just hoping it would be enough to get Dean to stop.

When Dean’s hands roved lower, left his face and neck and slipped under the waistband of his pants he knew he was mistaken. Dean’s hands were warm, pressed just the right amount onto his skin to make him want to arch into the touch, but that was just physiological. He didn’t _want_ to do this with Dean tonight, not when they’d been at odds with each other for so long, and he didn’t know what had changed.

“Dean, stop.”

“It’s been so long, Cas, don’t you want to?”

Dean’s hands pulled at the hem of his shorts, started to move them down his hips and it took everything in Cas not to shift with the tug and let them be pulled free. Not like this, out of nowhere with no explanation.

“I’m not high enough for this,” he groaned, batting at Dean’s hands to get them to back off.

“You’re always high. And I know tonight isn’t any different.” Dean laughed against his mouth and trailed kisses over his jaw. “Let’s make it perfect all round, a buzz and a fuck, just how you like it.”

“How _you_ like it.” Cas countered, deflecting the sting of Dean’s words by reminding him he wasn’t the only broken excuse for a man here.

“Yeah well, obviously I like it. And you.” Dean cupped his groin and thrust forward with a throaty chuckle.

Dean moved lightning fast, hefted Cas up and divested him of his pants in one smooth move. Cas kicked his ankles, drew his legs together but a quick sharp bite at his nipple made him gasp and loosen and Dean drew the pants over his feet to drop onto the floor with a soft _thwump._

Cas was sleep mussed and sluggish and caught off guard, that must be all, but he could fight this. He felt how hard Dean was through his jeans and briefly had time to wonder how he was keeping it up while so wasted before Dean ground down so forcefully Cas was surprised it didn’t hurt.

Maybe it did. Maybe that’s why Dean was here, to get his rocks off through pain and degradation and then forget all about it by morning.

“Come on, it’ll be just like old times,” Dean murmured, bracketing Cas with his body and starting to roll his body in undulations, pressing them together and then slinking away over and over.

Cas blinked up at him and furrowed his brow. “No.”

“I still want you, let me prove it.”

“Dean, I said no.”

Dean cocked his head and then shook it. He breathed out and the alcohol stench wafted over Cas so strongly it made his eyes water. Dean shook his head again.

“I’ll make it good, promise.”

And then Dean was all over him, hands touching, pinning, and reaching for the lube and Cas couldn’t keep track of Dean’s movements, realised he couldn’t even feel his own hands or feet either. Whatever it was he’d taken before bed, must have still been swimming through his system. The thought struck him that maybe Dean wasn’t here at all. Maybe it was just his mind throwing sensations at him, bringing up old haunting memories. That would explain Dean’s behaviour.

Cas almost wished that were the case, but as cold lube was spread across his skin it felt all too real. Smeared accidentally over his hip and thigh as Dean’s hand wandered toward his hole it jarred him, snapped the illusion that this was all a dream or a hallucination.

He shoved, but Dean was heavy and solid. Dean spread lube between the cracks of his ass, wormed his way between Cas’ legs even as he tried to keep them closed. Every time Cas tried to roll over or head towards the edge of the bed Dean would yank him around and smother him. There wasn’t any room between them, no space to throw a punch, no air to breathe, no weak points to tackle.

Dean opened the fly on his pants one handed and pulled himself out. Hard, leaking, it seemed the fight Cas was putting up was making Dean more aroused. 

“I’ll make it good, it ain’t gonna hurt. Trust me, alright?”

“That’s a funny thing to say,” Cas murmured, closing his eyes and thumping his head back against the headboard. “You’ve been categorically untrustworthy since the day we met.”

“Don’ be _rude_ Cas.”

“Don’t force this on me _Dean._ ”

“S’just… what we need. How we gotta be. Can’t do this without ya.”

“Something’s wrong, you’re terrible at hiding anything. Just tell me.”

Dean paused, briefly, eyes wondering over Cas’ body. “M’here now. I’m here. Let’s make the best of it.”

There was pushing and pulling and fingers in his ass, Dean’s hands in his hair. Lube transferred from place to place and Dean’s precome smeared across his belly until Cas felt sticky all over and humiliated. Sweaty and a mess and furious. Despite his protests and his lack of interest Dean was insatiable. He left kisses and whispered dirty things over every inch of Cas’ body.

Before long Cas was face down and Dean inched between his knees, hands on Cas’ hips to hold him still and an insistently nudging at his ass. Dean was ready, Castiel was not.

Not that that stopped anything. It never had. It was why Cas spent so much time dizzy with substance and lost in a fog; to forget the deeds he had been too weak to stop, to will away the memories of the things and people he hadn’t been able to save.

This was just one more thing to add to the list, it seemed. One more painful violation to chalk up to his own ineptitude. He should have been able to fight Dean, at any other time in his long, long life, he would have been the strongest of the two of them. He wasn’t sure what bothered him most—the reminder of his lack of agency and his depleted strength, or his so-called friend taking pleasure from his body without his say-so. It was probably a draw. There were certainly no winners here.

It didn’t hurt, none of it hurt and he almost found himself wishing it would. It would make it easier to understand how he could be hating this while Dean loved it.

Dean moved him, little by little, an arm under his waist to hoist him up, nudged his knees aside, pinned his arms in a way that felt less suffocating than being laid on them but was just as impossible to deal with. This entire situation was improbable, ridiculous. He should throw Dean off and be done. He should have had the power to stop this but he _didn’t_.

Dean was stronger and faster than everyone around him, and he seemed to be able to anticipate all of Cas’ reactions. The hand on the side of Cas’ head was firm and unyielding, almost pushing his face into the mattress. It kept moving and stroking through his hair too, caressing his face but there to clamp down if Cas shifted too quickly. 

“I got you, I got this, feels so right so good,” Dean muttered incomprehensible things behind him, buried his face in the space between Cas’ shoulder blades and nosed along his skin until he could kiss at the back of Cas’ neck.

“Dean, please.” Cas tried to make some room between himself and the immovable weight of Dean’s body. 

“Yeah baby, yes.”

“I can’t move! I can’t— you have to stop!”

Dean thrust forward, drove deeper and bit down, teeth digging into the soft tender flesh of Cas’ shoulder. Cas cried out, and Dean shushed him, fucked him like he was trying to bury them both in the mattress dick first, and Cas’ body was the only barrier getting in the way.

If this was what Dean would do while enjoying himself, Cas didn’t dare make Dean angry. Was this what he was here for, just a warm body, a punching bag, a way to satisfy the men of the world when he had nothing else of worth left to give? Is this what staying with, and saving Dean, meant?

Dean rolled them over so they were spooning, side by side. Still buried deep he rolled his hips, and Cas squirmed at the feeling of Dean’s dick nudging further inside him. He gripped Dean’s hand where it rested over his heart and Dean groaned, his other hand stroking Cas’ stomach like he was trying to feel himself from the outside. Cas tried to wriggle away but Dean was like a limpet and where Cas went, he followed.

“Been readin’ all these books you know? Seen all sorts of things, stuff about creatures. And angels.”

Cas froze, and that was all Dean needed to continue his explorations of Cas’ body. Hands everywhere, wet tongue, _teeth._ Hot breath and murmured praises. Cas’ angelic fury at being overpowered began to surge, and he felt himself heat up, burning through the dregs that remained of his grace. He started to growl and Dean whispered, “Yeah, sweetheart, yes.” 

All his fight drained away at Dean’s voice. He couldn’t, _wouldn’t,_ hurt Dean.

“What do these books say?” he asked, and was surprised to find his voice thick, half-choked. “What do they have to do with us?”

“All this, stuff. Stuff about how to get angels to reveal themselves.” Dean drove forward with a grunt, wiggled his hips and let his dick twitch inside Cas. “Wanna see Cas, just wanna see you.”

Cas stiffened and tried to call on every speck of power he knew how to possess to get through to the man forced unwillingly in his ass. “Dean Winchester, I command you to stop.”

Dean gasped, moaned, and hugged him closer. “Make me so hot for you.” He started to shift around, and Cas became hyper aware of all the layers of clothes that brushed against him, of how Dean was clothed and hidden, got to keep his dignity.

He wanted to throw an elbow back in frustration, wanted to cause Dean to bleed because maybe seeing red would make him see sense. Then, of course, there was the other possibility—that Dean would be the bull, and Cas would be the china shop, and it would only bring destruction.

In a blink there was a blade pressed to his skin. An Angel blade, sharp as they come. He sucked in a breath and it shifted the metal against his sternum.

“Dean?”

“You know what I was reading about last? _Wings_ Cas. Angel wings, your wings. Won’t you lemme see them?”

“No!” Cas fought, he fought with all he had, struggled and tried to surge away but he felt caught on Dean’s dick, and trapped in Dean’s arms. Dean was utterly focused on keeping Cas close. His thrashing got him nowhere except a prick to his skin, over his heart. Just where Cas was most terrified of. 

“Shh, it won’t hurt. It won’t.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Well if it does, it’ll be over soon enough.”

Dean’s fingers smeared through the blood, dragged it around into the shape of a sigil that felt like a burning brand of fire across Cas’ skin once it was complete. He screamed and Dean uttered soothing words into his ear. More blood trickled down over the drawn lines but it didn’t matter, it was still there beneath the trails of liquid. Cas peered blearily down at his chest as the initial burst of heat died down to an irritating tingle.

“Dean…”

Dean rolled, used his weight to tumble them back over until Cas was on his belly, pressed flat to the mattress, his legs spread wide to accommodate the girth of Dean between them, inside him. 

“I love you, I could love you, we could’ve been so good together.” Dean stroked his back, down his sides, and let hands bracket his hips as he thrust lazily into Cas a few more times. “You know, I bet Sammy saw Lucifer’s wings. Doesn’t seem right that he gets that and I don’t.”

“Lucifer is not Sam’s lover!” Just like you’re not mine, he added silently. “Lucifer tormented your brother, tortured him, destroyed his mind until he said yes. That’s not… not love.” His breath caught as a rough fuck drove the air from his lungs.

“That’s what I mean, he saw the wings of the angel he was destined to be closest to and it’s all kinds of messed up. I’m closest to you and you’ve never even wanted to, but I can fix it. I can take the lead when you won’t.”

“This is _sacred,_ it’s not something to be shared lightly.”

Dean leaned over him, dropped his forehead between Cas’ shoulder blades. “Not _lightly._ Don’t I seem pretty fucking desperate to you? _”_

Cas tried to push up again, to get his arms beneath him. He succeeded but Dean’s heavy body bracketed his own and he couldn't move it. There was a blade that could kill him, held cold and firm against the back of his spine and it chilled him to his core that Dean could be so casual with this.

The point of the blade, sharp and stinging, pierced the jut of his shoulder blades. He screamed. As it moved in the patterns of the sigils it cut deeper than skin, it flayed him to the depths of his being, pushed through the barriers of flesh and matter into the ether where his wings were hidden. The cuts broke the divide and his wings strained against what suddenly felt like confinement, instead of protection.

He screamed in enochian, desperate keening sounds, and was duly aware of his physical form being pressed down and taken while his angelic form was forced to manifest. Too many sensations from all sides that gripped him in a vice, squeezed until he thought he couldn’t stand another second and must either crack apart or cease to exist.

Dean stuttered to a halt, and Cas sobbed at the moment of reprieve. There was pressure, like the swell of a tide meeting the resistance of the shore. When the wave broke, so did he.

His wings burst free with a _whoomph_ and there was no more pain, only intense pleasure. The bindings were broken and though he was distantly aware that it never used to feel like binding, but like safety, the relief was overpowering. He went limp, exhaustion dragging down his limbs until he could barely twitch. 

His wings fluttered in the corners of his vision and he closed his eyes so as not to see. He should never be able to _see_ them—not here, not like this. They were heavy on his back, an added weight to push him onto the bed. And Dean was there too, straddling his hips, his cock silky smooth and hot in the hollow of Cas’ back. Cas didn’t know when he’d pulled out, and didn’t care. Dean rocked, smeared more lube across Cas’ skin and it felt filthy, wrong.

When Dean buried his hands in the feathers of his wings, it felt worse.

He wasn’t sure what Dean was saying, there were words and sounds but all he could focus on was the touch. The touch that felt like dirt on his essence, smearing dust across the planes of once holy relics. Sullied now, being pulled away from him in new ways.

“They’re not like how I imagined.”

Cas had nothing to say.

“Still beautiful though.” 

Dean parted his legs and slipped between them. His cock bluntly nudged Cas’ hole before he urged it back inside. Dean’s hand gripped the joints of his wings, the bony structure where they protruded from his back, and he thrust forward in increments to settle back inside Cas. The hollow delicate bones felt poised to crack and caused Cas to arch his back to accommodate, but Dean let go as he seated himself back inside and Cas flopped back to the mattress, out of breath and panting. 

Dean’s arousal was obvious, in the heat of his touch and the fervour of his actions. In the hot hard length of his cock and the sweat littering his skin. Cas was cold and still as stone and not aroused at all.

Dean was gentle. Unerringly soft in his movements, hardly jolting Cas, and it was such a counterpoint to the pain that he’d caused, the violation he was perpetrating, that Cas’ head swam. The sickening sweetness tasted wrong, felt unbelievable, and he realised it wasn’t sweetness at all, only another kind of salt to rub into the open wounds of his being.

He felt abandoned, left out in the cold even with Dean pressed so close. He could feel heaven pulling away from him further, now he was sullied, now his wings had emerged and grounded him to the earth.

Because that’s what Dean musn’t understand, by forcing them to manifest, he’d taken all their power, stolen the star-song and the glory from them, made them purely physical. He could put them away again, if the cuts ever healed, but they would never be the same, they wouldn’t have the same connection to the heavenly host, nor the ether between realities where his true form could exist.

He was stuck here, with only Dean, and Dean’s hands and his words and all the things that should have been given freely but instead were being stolen. 

Despite the presence of someone else, he was _alone._

Except—

The door slammed open, creaking on its hinges and there was a lifeline, a hope in the dark _._ There was _someone_. Dean’s movements slowed but didn’t stop and Cas near-sobbed because his reprieve felt snatched from him as the person swore and tried to back out of the room.

“W-Wait!” Cas cried out, his voice cracked.

“Was someone screaming? I heard, or I thought I heard, enochian.”

“S’fine, get outta here” Dean slurred and one hand left Cas’s hip, waving whoever it was away. “I told you, no matter what, leave us alone.”

“Shit, his _wings_ , it worked!”

“Yeah.” Dean grunted, slumped low over Cas until his head rested between the crook of each wing. “Aren’t they beautiful? Told ya.” Dean turned his head, “We can get on with the plan later, definitely later. Get a message out to, uhhh, tell our source to get us word on the location. We needa know where Sam—Lucifer— is.”

The man left and Cas turned his head, wishing he didn’t have to hear the door click closed, taking safety with it. A flicker caught his attention. He blinked, surprised as Sam appeared as if out of nowhere. He twitched his fingers, hoping to beckon him. He knew it wasn’t real, just his mind slipping and sliding down the tracks of pain and confusion and the drugs trying to blind him with some new distraction.

“Sam, this is about Sam,” he mumbled

Dean laughed and huffed _yeah_ and started grinding against— _into_ —Cas. Cas groaned low in his throat.

“Make him stop,” Cas whispered. “I tried, I couldn’t. He’s too strong.”

“Shh, Baby, you don’t know what you’re saying.” Dean stroked his wings again, an action that made him shiver and made something _shift._ Cas choked on his own saliva as he felt the shafts of his feathers begin to itch, and then to tingle. Under Dean’s hands things started to feel… _renewed_. 

“You used me,” he whispered. His eyes grew hot, finally. Teeth gritted he tried, and mostly succeeded, to stop the flow of tears.

“Don’t take it too personally,” Dean said, getting sloppy in his movements. He seemed so distracted by Cas’ wings, carding his fingers through them and stroking down them to delicate tips, only to flick them in a way that sent Cas into irregular spasms as they shifted, vibration traveling down the shafts right through to to follicle. He’d never felt them so physically and coupled with Dean’s touch it started an awful aching that made Cas undulate, trying to escape what was part of him.

“No, no, no. No no no no.”

“What is it?” Dean asked.

At the same time, echoing and tinny, the mirage of Sam crouched beside the bed and smiled sadly. “You know I always come first in his mind.”

“You don’t know what you've done,” Cas said. The words felt flat, barely worth saying at all.

“Callin’ me dumb, Cas?” 

“This… my wings. You’ve ruined…”

“You’re just a tool to him, I wish you’d seen it earlier,” Sam said.

“You’re not really here, you’d help me if you were!” Cas groaned.

“Are you seeing things Cas? Having a good trip there?” Dean’s breath came out panting, and Cas noticed his dick felt larger, hotter. With the way Dean was pressed up behind him, he felt Dean’s balls begin to draw up, tighten. “Keep thrashing, it’s doing the trick. And then this can all be over.”

Cas buried his face in the mattress, barely hearing, almost incoherent with the litany of hurts and sensation that encompassed his being. Dean laid over the top of him and the smothering weight went deeper than physical. He knew that all he’d ever wanted was to help these men, and that if this was what it took he would have, if he’d been _asked_. If this is what was required to keep the world safe, if it’s what he had to give, he could have helped.

But like this? Like this it was too much, too wrong, too broken.

Dean rocked a few more times, hands gripping tight every place that they touched. It was like he couldn’t make up his mind and his hands roved over Cas’ skin, clammy and urgent and skittering. When Dean came, grunting hard and fast, not even speaking just making animal noises of pleasure, he buried his fingers into Cas’ feathers and curled them held on and crushed the primary feathers until they were bent and twisted in his grip while he rode Cas through the end of his orgasm.

Cas wanted to scream but only a high whistle left his vocal chords. His wings flared out, spread like delicate fingers until they were wider than the span of the bed. He couldn’t control them, they were reacting and changing to the stimuli. They were finding a new anchor point, a thing to tether themselves too on the physical plane.

And with Dean’s come flooding his ass, Dean’s body touching his own, Dean’s breath mingling with the same air, that was what they latched onto. Dean. Dean. Dean. Only Dean.

Dean slumped, on his hands and knees, his head dropped beside Cas’ and he caught his breath in increments. Cas could feel him. Sense him. Hear him. Knew him. 

Bonded. They were bonded. Again and again, over and over. First at heaven’s whims when they sent Cas into the pit for the righteous man; again through circumstance of free will and becoming brethren, family to one another; and again now, as the result of Dean’s actions. 

“Get off me,” Cas growled. He stared blankly at Sam’s face, knowing he was seeing things, but glad that there was something other than Dean to see after all.

“Whatever you say, Cas.” Dean clambered off, pulled _out_ and Cas swallowed a sob as come trickled from his ass and stained the sheets.

No matter, he’d probably burn the bed anyway.

Dean hovered over him, obscuring the hallucination of Sam and Cas sighed. Dean’s hands traced the outline of his wings in the air. “I know you don’t understand,” he started.

“Oh, I understand.” Cas tried to push himself up to sitting but the heavy oppressive weight of his wings pushed him back down. “You wanted to test a _theory_ and where better than with me.”

Dean shrugged. “I needed to know it would work.”

“You could have asked.”

“Yeah, because that’s his M.O.” the hallucination of Sam said, walking behind Dean, circling the bed to perch on the other side.

“Needed to prove it to the guys. If it makes you feel better, I’m sorry.”

“You’re not. I’ve seen sorry on you and this is not it.”

“I made it good, I tried to be gentle.”

“It doesn’t _feel_ _good._ And you know, you know you’re in the wrong or else you wouldn’t have had to get so drunk to do it. You wouldn’t have had to obliterate yourself to make it happen.” Cas turned onto his side, so he could look Dean in the eye. “I know a thing or two about substance abuse Dean and I know a cop-out when I see one.”

Dean shrugged, zipping up. “Saving the world isn’t something I’m going to apologise for.”

“How will this even work? If you want to get close enough to force Lucifer to reveal himself to you, how do you suppose you’ll make that happen?”

“I don’t have to be so close. He’s more powerful than you. With you I wanted to be up close and personal, make sure the sigils knew exactly what angel they were being carved into. Lucifer will be the only thing with that much power in _miles._ We can write them on the ground, paint them on buildings, it should still work. I just wanted to be extra careful with you.” Dean reached out as if to touch and Cas slapped his hand away.

He recoiled as something in his being yearned toward Dean. Recoiled until he fell backwards into the phantom arms of Sam. He wished the younger Winchester were here, wished he wasn’t facing this alone. “You are _careless._ You have _ruined me._ ”

Dean licked his lips, bobbed his head in acknowledgement. “There’s always a price. It’s always us who pays it.”

Cas reeled. His wings flared, indignant. And he choked on the realisation they were reacting physically after so little time on the earthly plane. “ _You knew._ ”

“That it would ground you, make you… less powerful. Yeah.” Dean rubbed his eyes, looking worn and sleepy.

“And you did it anyway.”

“You’re already… you don’t offer us much as it is, what’s one more speck of power gone?”

Cas laughed. “It’s not gone, it’s transferred. But you don’t get that. You couldn’t get that. You don’t want me, you wouldn’t want to be bonded with me. Well, guess what, you just caught yourself an angel, too fucking bad.”

He watched, waiting for Dean to flinch, to seem surprised. He didn’t. 

Cas raised his eyebrows. “Really? You, you knew, even that? And still?”

“Sacrifice. We all make ‘em.”

“Dean makes them for us,” Sam murmured behind him. “But he is usually right.”

“Don’t say that!” Cas hissed. “You don’t believe that, I don’t believe that.” He turned, pulled himself free to curl up with his knees to his chest.

“We’re already fucked up, you and me. What’s a little more between friends?” Dean frowned at him. “Try and rest Cas, you’re tired.”

“I’m not.”

“You must be.”

Cas looked up slowly, body heavy, knowledge dragging him down. “You doped me.”

Sam, hallucination though he was, gasped indignant and rose to his feet.

“It woulda happened anyway, and I didn’t want to fight you.”

“I choose what goes in my body, not you, not you, not you.” Cas spat. “Get. Out.”

“Call me, when you need help with those wings. I’m not going to be more of a dick about it than I already have been, you’ll need a hand. And… they’ll want it to be me.” Dean turned with a decisive nod and left. Cas wasn’t sure but he thought he heard the door lock from the outside, hemming him in.

Cas threw a pillow after him and looked to Sam; kind, waiting, patient Sam who Dean had done all this to try and save. “I miss you.”

“He’s going to get me back.”

“He isn’t.” Cas hunched over. His wings, his being, had bonded with Dean because he was the closest earthly thing and he needed a tether. When Dean forced Lucifer to ground, he would bond with the closest human—Sam. Irrevocably joined, body and soul, more completely than just an angel and its host.

Maybe Dean was okay with that though, he never expected to save Sam completely, not any more. And maybe trapping his brother to earth, to be fought and beaten into submission on human terms, was the closest he knew he was going to get to bringing Sam to heel. To get to see his face again, and to know that Sam’s body wouldn’t be used to bring more destruction to the planet.

He wished he could condemn Dean completely but he couldn’t. He wished he had a friend who he could trust. Cas looked up with watery eyes, the image of Sam was already fading, and he cried out.

“Stay? Please stay, please, be real. Just be real and bond with me too so it’s not just him.”

Dean had enacted the spell but it hadn’t been long since it was cast, maybe there was still time for someone else to bond with him too, to make his connection with Dean less all encompassing. Cas thought about stumbling out to beg for someone else at camp to fuck him, to touch his wings and call him theirs. To love him. The idea was laughable. Humiliating.

Roughly he tugged at his own dick, trying to find some spark of arousal. Maybe he could bond with himself, be his own physical connection to the earth. Maybe maybe maybe. His thoughts whirled, his body ached, and he chafed the skin of his dick with a too-dry palm.

Sam stepped forward and drew his hands away. “Don’t, that won't work. And you’re not horny, it’ll only hurt.”

“I want it. I want it... _I didn’t want **that**._”

“I know.” 

“Then stay!” Cas yelled.

“You know I can’t.” Sam spoke sadly. “It was a nice dream though, wasn’t it?”

Cas sobbed, reaching out again, but Sam’s fingers dissipated before he could touch them. He tugged at his hair, wondering what he had to hand that might increase his buzz and let him keep the loneliness at bay a little longer. He didn’t know what Dean had slipped him, didn’t know what could imitate the effects.

His wings wrapped around him, and he clung to them. He scratched his nails over the feathers, enjoying and loathing the sensation in equal measure. He tore at them and a few stray feathers came loose in his hands. It hurt. He hoped vindictively that it somehow hurt Dean too.

**Author's Note:**

> I made the angel sad, anyone got any duct tape to patch him up?
> 
> Let me know if you liked the fic, it'll be much appreciated!


End file.
